Farewell, Big Easy: A Post-Katrina Eulogy
The Fugitivo leaves at six
Satchmo’s last trumpet call
Naked and empty Marie Laveau’s
Neighborhood of flesh, now sand.
Salt will inherit the wind
Its taste will linger
On the tongues of time
Recording once there were
Twin pianos and a town,
Children of the trombone,
And jeweled foreheads,
Earrings that seduced sense.
In the storm all
Things change; the winds
Erase cobblestone history.
Centuries are straw.
The jet plume
Mixes with the clouds.
